away.
“Wh-what?” Nicole said, scrambling over Rafe. “Did he say heart attack?”
“If it is, we’ll get help,” I said as Corey pulled her back.
The pilot was on the radio to his dispatcher, filling him in between bouts of yelling at us to sit down.
I moved in front of the mayor to undo his jacket. When Sam tried to wedge up beside his chair, Daniel nudged her toward our seats. Anyone else, she’d have told him to go to hell, but she listened to Daniel.
“Maya can help,” Nicole said when the pilot tried sending me back to my seat. “She knows first aid. She runs a hospital.”
“For animals ,” Hayley said.
Corey told her to shut up, but she had a point. My dad was the local park ranger, and I had a rehabilitation shed for nursing injured animals back to health. I did know first aid, though, and the basics of dealing with a heart attack victim. Step one: call a doctor. Kind of tough, under the circumstances. Step two: give the victim an aspirin. That wouldn’t work while he was unconscious. But why was he unconscious? I remembered fainting as one of the signs, but not sustained lack of consciousness.
We had to get him to a doctor and, until then, I could only presume it was heart failure and perform CPR if he stopped breathing.
I unbuttoned the mayor’s shirt. When Nicole inched forward, the pilot snapped at her, and Corey told him to go to hell, which really didn’t help matters. I glanced at Daniel.
“Nicole,” Daniel said, “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. He’s breathing and we’re looking after him.” He turned to the others. “Sit down, guys. Everything’s under control.”
It didn’t matter that Daniel barely raised his voice and the pilot’s shouting and the noise of the helicopter almost drowned him out. Everyone sat. Even Kenjii, who’d been anxiously nosing the mayor’s hand.
“We need to get him lying down,” I said. “If it’s cardiac arrest, his heart may stop. I can’t perform CPR while he’s sitting.”
“Then you aren’t performing CPR,” the pilot said. “There’s no room. We’ll be landing soon.”
I laid my palm against the mayor’s bare chest. I could feel his heart. Beating, but fluttery. Was that a sign of a heart attack? As I moved back, I saw a spot of blood on the shoulder of his shirt, where we’d peeled his jacket away. I remembered the mayor putting on his Windbreaker before climbing into the helicopter.
“We need to get his jacket off,” I said.
As Daniel helped me get the mayor out of it, the pilot yelled, “Whoa! Hold on! Back in your seats. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”
Fortunately, as long as he was flying the helicopter, all the pilot could do was yell. And if there are teenagers who actually respond to adults shouting at them, I’ve never met one.
When we got the mayor’s jacket off, I checked his upper arm. There was a puncture wound. A dot, slightly swollen, crusted in dried blood.
“Injection?” I mouthed to Daniel.
He frowned and leaned to my ear. “Could be an insect . . . No, wait. Before we got on, the pilot clapped Mr. Tillson on the arm. I remember the mayor rubbing the spot, like it hurt.” He paused. “Like he’d been injected.”
Daniel slowly turned on the pilot. I could feel the rage pulsing off him. I grabbed his arm and squeezed so tight it had to hurt. Only then did he drop his gaze.
“His heart’s beating fine,” I said to the pilot. “Just have someone waiting at the pad.”
I refastened the mayor’s seat belt, then started moving back toward my seat. I don’t know exactly what happened next. My gaze was on Nicole, who looked terrified. I think the pilot grabbed for me. Or maybe he just reached out to get my attention.
Daniel yelled “No!”
That’s all he did. I’m sure of it. Daniel shouted and the pilot snapped forward. His head cracked against the instrument panel, and he crumpled in his seat.
“Wake him up!” Hayley shouted. “Someone wake him
“Wh-what?” Nicole said, scrambling over Rafe. “Did he say heart attack?”
“If it is, we’ll get help,” I said as Corey pulled her back.
The pilot was on the radio to his dispatcher, filling him in between bouts of yelling at us to sit down.
I moved in front of the mayor to undo his jacket. When Sam tried to wedge up beside his chair, Daniel nudged her toward our seats. Anyone else, she’d have told him to go to hell, but she listened to Daniel.
“Maya can help,” Nicole said when the pilot tried sending me back to my seat. “She knows first aid. She runs a hospital.”
“For animals ,” Hayley said.
Corey told her to shut up, but she had a point. My dad was the local park ranger, and I had a rehabilitation shed for nursing injured animals back to health. I did know first aid, though, and the basics of dealing with a heart attack victim. Step one: call a doctor. Kind of tough, under the circumstances. Step two: give the victim an aspirin. That wouldn’t work while he was unconscious. But why was he unconscious? I remembered fainting as one of the signs, but not sustained lack of consciousness.
We had to get him to a doctor and, until then, I could only presume it was heart failure and perform CPR if he stopped breathing.
I unbuttoned the mayor’s shirt. When Nicole inched forward, the pilot snapped at her, and Corey told him to go to hell, which really didn’t help matters. I glanced at Daniel.
“Nicole,” Daniel said, “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. He’s breathing and we’re looking after him.” He turned to the others. “Sit down, guys. Everything’s under control.”
It didn’t matter that Daniel barely raised his voice and the pilot’s shouting and the noise of the helicopter almost drowned him out. Everyone sat. Even Kenjii, who’d been anxiously nosing the mayor’s hand.
“We need to get him lying down,” I said. “If it’s cardiac arrest, his heart may stop. I can’t perform CPR while he’s sitting.”
“Then you aren’t performing CPR,” the pilot said. “There’s no room. We’ll be landing soon.”
I laid my palm against the mayor’s bare chest. I could feel his heart. Beating, but fluttery. Was that a sign of a heart attack? As I moved back, I saw a spot of blood on the shoulder of his shirt, where we’d peeled his jacket away. I remembered the mayor putting on his Windbreaker before climbing into the helicopter.
“We need to get his jacket off,” I said.
As Daniel helped me get the mayor out of it, the pilot yelled, “Whoa! Hold on! Back in your seats. We’ll be landing in a few minutes.”
Fortunately, as long as he was flying the helicopter, all the pilot could do was yell. And if there are teenagers who actually respond to adults shouting at them, I’ve never met one.
When we got the mayor’s jacket off, I checked his upper arm. There was a puncture wound. A dot, slightly swollen, crusted in dried blood.
“Injection?” I mouthed to Daniel.
He frowned and leaned to my ear. “Could be an insect . . . No, wait. Before we got on, the pilot clapped Mr. Tillson on the arm. I remember the mayor rubbing the spot, like it hurt.” He paused. “Like he’d been injected.”
Daniel slowly turned on the pilot. I could feel the rage pulsing off him. I grabbed his arm and squeezed so tight it had to hurt. Only then did he drop his gaze.
“His heart’s beating fine,” I said to the pilot. “Just have someone waiting at the pad.”
I refastened the mayor’s seat belt, then started moving back toward my seat. I don’t know exactly what happened next. My gaze was on Nicole, who looked terrified. I think the pilot grabbed for me. Or maybe he just reached out to get my attention.
Daniel yelled “No!”
That’s all he did. I’m sure of it. Daniel shouted and the pilot snapped forward. His head cracked against the instrument panel, and he crumpled in his seat.
“Wake him up!” Hayley shouted. “Someone wake him
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